


Brand Names

by helens78



Category: American Psycho (2000)
Genre: M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-09-28
Updated: 2003-09-28
Packaged: 2017-10-11 22:01:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/117573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helens78/pseuds/helens78
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If you want something done right, do it yourself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brand Names

I'm lying on my Oriental rug, each strand individually dyed and hand-sewn, staring up at the ceiling while the strands of an intermezzo by Vivaldi work their way through my living room. The receiver is by Harmon/Kardon, the speakers by Bose, and the sound truly does seem as if it's coming from every possible direction. I had the speakers installed by a team of acoustic professionals, and it took four hours to get everything just right. I tipped them very handsomely; it was one of the few times I've ever had the installers of one of my systems willing to stay until I was completely satisfied with my arrangment.

I took off my Bill Blass suit and my Calvin Klein boxer-briefs and hung them up carefully in my custom-built cedar closet before coming back to the kitchen for a bottle of Evian, and now that I'm on the floor, I'm running fingertips up and down the center of my chest, trying to imagine what I'll be doing in an hour.

A few thoughts flash briefly through my head as I trail my fingertips down over the rippled muscles of my abdomen. I put so much time and effort into these muscles; I clench them a bit just to feel them tighten under my hand. Nice. Precisely defined. Perfect.

I think about calling up the escort service I've employed on occasion. I could have someone sent up. Some blonde with big tits and a slinky black dress, the kind where you can't quite tell whether it's a real Donna Karan or a knockoff, which just makes it that much trashier and leaves me completely able to rip the thing off her without any particular feelings of regret. Not that I'd have them anyway -- the escort service I call charges enough that they can afford to buy their whores more cheap Donna Karan knockoffs, which I have decided those dresses must be, because even a New York whore would know better than to wear a _real_ designer outfit to an assassination--

\--assignation. I _meant_ assignation.

But the truth is, I'm really not in the mood for hired pussy tonight. I've been having a rough day, too many things going wrong, blue chips down, some of the new technology stocks I've been having my broker watch are up, and I have to remind myself to tell my broker to be ready to shortsell about thirteen different things -- there's a downturn coming, and I can make a fortune off it if my broker's smart enough to get me in at the right time.

So no, not hired pussy. I'm better off here on the floor, Oriental rug scratching against my back, Vivaldi on my stereo, hand around my own cock, because as good as any girl -- whore -- girl is, she's not gonna know what the fuck to do with it, really. Doesn't know the first thing about it, because she's never had that sensation of instant feedback all men are gifted with.

Fucking Price calling me a faggot. As if he hasn't gotten handjobs in the dark afterhours of a night out clubbing. Not that _I'd_ touch his pitiful excuse for a dick -- I have better taste than that -- but I've seen it. Seen that smug look on that idiot's face afterwards.

He actually offered to let _me_ jerk him off once, the little shit, but he was so high he was speaking Italian, which of course he thinks I don't understand. I pretended to think he was offering me more cocaine, while secretly filing away the information in case I ever need something to startle him with, and he looked at first irritated and then relieved by my apparent mistranslation. I suspect I'd have had the worse of it if I'd done it, because him wanting it, that's fine, but me doing it, that'd make me yet another faggot, and that's the lsat thing I need right now -- Price having something else to laugh at me about. Prick.

But my hand's on my own cock right now, and it does feel good. It'd feel better with some Astroglide slicking up my palm, but I'm not about to keep lube in my home for some nosy bitch to find while she's snooping through my drawers. Too many questions I wouldn't feel like answering, and then I'd probably have to get out the ropes and pretend it's all about kink and not about masturbation, and _then_ I'd probably end up with a rather large mess to clean up, and I don't want to be _forced_ into that kind of decision. No.

So I'll settle for the rough, inelegant slide of hand against cock, and as my hand speeds up to the point where the sounds are echoing in the room and my breath is getting shallow I think about the splash of blood from the whore I knifed last week and wonder if I have time to pick someone up off the street and maybe just beat him to death in an alley and hear the crunch of glass under my feet as I walk away...

...nnngh, _Christ_. My hips come off the rug as I come, and I grip my cock tighter, getting my come to shoot out all the way up my chest, not quite to my chin, but damn close. I've got a hell of a range on it, and I'd like to see Price beat _that_.

And hmm... we do tell girls that swallowing's good for the skin, good for the sheen of one's hair. I wonder. I know semen has approximately fourteen calories to an ejaculation, probably more in my case due to the sheer volume involved, and that it's mostly water, a little protein. Worth a taste.

Hm. Not bad. There is something rather decadent about lying on one's floor licking one's own come off one's fingers, while idly thinking about tomorrow's meeting with the Eston account and wondering what one's secretary's going to be wearing.

Vivaldi's getting loud. I should get up and turn the stereo down; we're reaching decibel levels where we start to see the color of the sound bleed a bit.

I should get up. Just a few more moments' rest. Just need to rest.


End file.
